


Every Year

by angeltrumpets



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Post-Series, Pre-Rebellion Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeltrumpets/pseuds/angeltrumpets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every other night doesn't matter, but for tonight, Homura just wants to be by herself, with only one thing on her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Year

It’s that day of the year again.

Its importance has not lessened, nor will it ever. If anything, Homura holds this day closer to her heart with each passing year.

When Mami and Kyouko were still alive and with her, she didn’t include them. Why would she? There wouldn’t have been any point. They didn’t know, wouldn’t understand. They didn’t remember. Not that they could. To them, it was as if there was nothing _to_ remember.

But Homura remembers, and she will for as long as she lives.

As the final wraith is defeated on the last hunt of the night, the lair around her fades away, leaving her standing alone in the dark alleyway, nothing but four black cubes lying at her feet indicating that there had been anything out of the ordinary.

Homura bends down to pick them up. She brings them to her soul gem, one by one, and cleanses the orb of its darkness. She uses more cubes than necessary, a choice she knows is foolish, but she does it anyway. Homura wants her gem completely clean tonight, shining its bright lilac colour. On any other day, the condition of her soul gem doesn’t matter to her. Even though she fights on, if her time is brought to an end, she’ll accept it without question. But tonight is different. She only wants to focus on one thing.

After the cubes have been used, she tosses them over her shoulder, certain that the Incubator would be right behind her to collect them. Sure enough, she hears the sound of Kyubey’s pouch as it consumes the cubes. As much as Homura detests him, she can’t kill wraiths without him there to dispose of the remains.

“You’re still doing this every year?” Phrased as a question, but spoken as an assumption.

Homura doesn’t answer; it’s none of his business what she does. Several years ago, on this same day, it had been no easy feat to get the persistent Incubator to leave. He had continuously asked her questions, and was ridiculously curious as to what she could possibly be doing so late at night after fighting. After all, he usually spent most of his time near Homura, the last magical girl in the city, and she tolerated him without any complaints, so to have her suddenly demand him to leave without any explanation as to why had raised some questions from Kyubey. But Homura refused to explain herself, and had insisted that he go away from her for that night, and for that same night every year for the years to come.

“I get the picture,” the Incubator says. “I’ll leave.”

With a swish of his tail, Kyubey turns away and disappears around the corner. Homura does the same, by tossing her hair and walking in the opposite direction, towards her home.

As the years have gone by, Homura has developed a sort of tradition for this particular day.

At the same time, the same place, alone.

Although, she’s never truly alone; she knows that, can often sense it.

Upon reaching her home, she transforms out of her magical girl clothes before entering through the door.

Her room is just as she left it. Although it’s not the room she cares about; only the small cardboard box that is placed in the centre of the table. The walls are bare, more than Homura is used to. She used to think that the images that appeared on them were a painful reminder of her suffering.

She had been wrong. It’s the lack of the images that is more painful, reminding her that it is as if her suffering had never happened.

Homura makes her way to the table and sits on the floor. She reaches for the cardboard box and brings it close to her. Taking a deep breath, she opens the lid to reveal what she had bought at the beginning of the day.

The cupcake is small, round and pink; just like _her_ , Homura thinks. The swirly pink icing is decorated with tiny edible hearts of purple, blue, yellow and red. The decorations Homura had bought separately, having wanted something of her own work as part of the cupcake, knowing that the choice in colours would be appreciated. She carefully removes the cupcake from the box and places it on the table. After Homura is sure that there is no chance of the cupcake tipping over, she takes out the other objects that she had been keeping in the box; a single candle and a matchbox. She delicately stands the candle in the middle of the cupcake, before taking out a match and lighting the candle. The candle is the only source of light in the room, and its glow illuminates the small area around the cupcake.

Homura doesn’t sing; it’s not something she does, and it’s not something that she thinks she is capable of doing without her voice cracking from emotion. Instead, she talks; looking at the cupcake as she does. Her voice is hushed and quiet, but she knows that she will be heard.

“You would have turned 18 today,” she says. “The same age as me.” She pauses before resuming. “I wonder what would have happened if you were here. A party? Maybe not something too big, but a nice gathering with the people you care about. Your friends, your family…”

Homura looks up from the cupcake and she gazes wistfully at a point above her.

“I know some of them are up there with you. One day, I will see you again, and we can celebrate your birthday together, with everyone else.”

Homura hesitates for a moment, and then reaches up towards her hair to that familiar ribbon she always wore. She pulls at one of the ends and its bow is undone, the ribbon falling into her hands. She holds one end in each hand as she places the ribbon on the table, in front of the cupcake. She leans forward, some of her hair falling forward. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Happy Birthday, Madoka,” she whispers.

She blows out the candle in one puff, and she can almost hear the sweet reply echoing in her ears.

“Thank you, Homura-chan.”

 


End file.
